Fate Eternal Night
by Entelecheia
Summary: Seven seemingly ordinary people. Seven Heroic Spirits. A city shrouded in darkness, and no way to escape. "Do you love me? Then… Let's bring everything to an end."
1. Prologue - Moonlight Shadow

_Endlessness_

_Elusive paradise_

_The curse of being "alive"_

_Collective unconscious_

_Behavioral spectrum_

_Eschatological myth_

_Shattering of the superego_

_Closed space_

_Persona_

Aconitum napellum

_[_omissis_]_

_Are you listening?_

_Impossible road_

_Anima_

_Empty rooms_

_Recollection of lost memories_

_Great mother_

_[_omissis_]_

_Defacing of "self"_

_Maitreya_

_Shadow_

_Tabula rasa_

_Will you find me?_

_[_omissis_]_

_Fregoli delusion_

_The black battalion_

_Wise old man_

_Approximation error_

_[_omissis_]_

_[_omissis_]_

_[_omissis_]_

_Ontological dilemma_

_Stream of Akasha_

_Extrojection_

_Animus_

_Self-fulfilling prophecy_

_Liminality_

_Trickster _

_Return to myself_

_Return to nothingness_

_[_omissis_]_

_[_omissis_]_

_Do you love me?_

_Then…_

_Let's bring everything to an end._

**FATE/ETERNAL NIGHT**

**PROLOGUE – MOONLIGHT SHADOW**

"You are my Master."

It wasn't a question, because there was no shade of doubt in the voice of the incorporeal presence – nothing more than the silhouette of a tall, slender human being traded in light – standing in front of the nervous young man who was the sole other occupant of the small room. On the simple wooden floor in front of his feet a large, intricate circle (multiple concentric circles, to be exact, a complex work of art more than anything; it was full of curved lines and angular glyphs not unlike Celtic runes, albeit more elegant and harmonious; something that wouldn't have looked out of place on the walls of a mosque) had been meticulously drawn with charcoal. And it was right in the middle of that circle that the shadow made of light stood.

The young man did his best to look back at the entity speaking to him, but the human-shaped tiny sun in front of him was blazing too intensely for him to stare at directly; his eyes wandered on the set of crumpled yellowish pages scattered on the floor, his forehead frowned in confusion and perplexity. "I… guess?" he replied in a smoother, deeper voice than what one would have expected by looking at his lanky, slightly hunched frame. Inside his head, the word "Master" popped up, with a capital M; that was clearly how the light spirit had pronounced it, and how it was written on the sheets of paper anyway. "T-to be honest, I wasn't expecting anything like this would have happened…" he added in a murmur that was mostly directed to himself than to his mysterious companion. "I wasn't expecting anything to happen in the first place."

The shimmering silhouette pulsated quietly, in a way that almost suggested it was chuckling. "You mean you summoned me with no previous knowledge of the ritual? That's… impressive, in a way," the figure observed; the polite tone it used didn't make any effort to hide the fact that whatever or whoever the being inside the circle was, it didn't think that what his "Master" had done was a particularly smart move.

The young man bit his lower lip, a look of frustration in his pale brown eyes. "It's not like I had much choice on the matter, really," he said, his stare once again gravitating towards the pieces of old paper scattered around his feet like ginkgo leaves; the one that was right next to his left shoe was covered in row after row of small letters and tiny smears of ink, no doubt the byproduct of an old typewriter. The young man's eyes focused on the very first line and its politely ominous content:

_Should you want to survive the night, please make sure to follow these instructions._

_And that's what I did,_ the young man thought with a grimace. _If only I knew what the hell did I accomplish exactly…_

The silhouette of light tilted its head. "Someone being forced to participate in a Holy Grail War? That's quite unusual," it murmured. "Have you considered trying to seek for help? Getting a neutral third party to help you?"

_To help me with what? And how? Why?_, the young man asked himself in supreme confusion, shaking his head. "Listen, I'll be honest: I don't know anything about this Holy Grail War you mentioned except for what's written in here." He grabbed a random page from the floor and pointed it in the figure's general direction. "See? I only got the cliff notes. Wait, you can read, can't you?"

The shape's glowing contours vibrated in barely contained disappointment. "Of course I can. I proud myself to be quite learned." A few seconds of silence followed. "It pains me to say this, but these letters lack of elegance when compared to those of my native language," the silhouette observed with a touch of regret.

The young man's first instinct was to bow his head and ask for forgiveness in the name of all the English speakers in the world, but he managed to restrain himself just in time. "The only things I know for sure are that I woke up here in this room I've never seen before with a weird tattoo on my forearm and this set of instructions on how to summon… well, you, if I wanted to stay alive. And also that I'm your Master and you are my… Servant? That's the word, am I right?"

"You are," the spirit replied in a quiet tone.

"And that you are supposed to help me win this war or win the war for me, the instructions are uselessly confusing and verbose on the matter." The young man grabbed his forehead in his hands, his eyes closed and a somewhat pained expression on his face. "How is all this even possible anyway? Oh, god, maybe I'm just lying in some alley and my brain is marinating in LSD or something."

"I can assure you this is without a doubt real," the figure in the magic circle intervened with the usual polite voice.

"Yeah, that's exactly what a drug-induced hallucination would say, too," the young man replied grumpily.

A weird, tense silence followed. "Looks like we have reached an impasse," the silhouette observed. "Could I ask you to show me the weird tattoo you were talking about, Master?"

"Um? Sure," the young man rolled the sleeve of the simple grey t-shirt he was wearing up to his elbow. "See? It doesn't hurt at all, but it does feel kind of itchy from time to time… though it could just be my mind playing tricks on me." The young man scratched the skin with his free hand for good measure.

The mark carved on the pale forearm was glowing scarlet as if it was burning right under the skin. It was composed of branches: a central one – the thicker, running parallel to the ulna and the radius underneath – and two smaller, twin ones departing from the slightly rounded base of the main one and intertwining around it like a couple of snakes before joining together near the top in a curved arc. "That's indeed a Command Spell," the androgynous voice of the summoned creature explained. "Worry not, my Master, it's not permanent: it will disappear at the end of the War… Or should you get killed in the meantime."

"Get… what?!" The young man took a sudden step back while covering the ominous red mark once again. "But… the papers said that I was going to survive if I did everything right!" he protested in a vehement tone, while twin spots of dark pink blossomed on his pale cheeks.

"I guess that also includes winning the Holy Grail War. That would indeed give you a pretty high chance of surviving," the spirit replied in a soft tone.

"Like hell I'm taking part in a war I know shit about," the young man grumbled curtly.

"I'm afraid it's a bit too late for that, Master," the shining humanoid said after a brief sigh. "But you shouldn't be worried: with me by your side, there is no way you can be beaten. I consider myself to be quite capable in battle; not that I am bragging or something…"

_Except you totally are?_, the young man allowed himself a small smirk. "And how are you going to fight our enemies, exactly? Sparkle in their faces?" he then snarked.

The light silhouette cleared his throat. "Unfortunately, it appears that the magical energies that are necessary for the completion of my summoning will still take some time to gather properly. In the meantime, I guess I should introduce myself." The mysterious figure took a short, elegant bow. "You may call me Archer, my Master."

Even though the being inside the magical circle had infused quite the epic tone in the last sentence, the young man didn't seem particularly impressed. "…Archer," he replied, the word rolling on his tongue as if it was an insult. "That's it? Archer?"

The light creatures cocked its head again. "Um? Why, were you expecting something else?"

"To be honest, yeah. Something like Mephistopheles, the Mighty Tempter of Mortals, or, I dunno… Balrog, the Devourer of Flesh. Something scarier, more intimidating…" the young man confessed.

The evocation raised its shining chin, a snort coming out of its intangible nostrils. "I don't know what kind of idea you have of me, but I can assure you I am not some lowly demon. I am a Heroic Spirit, and I would very much like to be considered as such," it explained in a blatantly upset voice. "And just to be clear, I do have a real name, but since there's no need for you to know it for the time being, Archer will be a perfectly fine way to address me."

"As you wish," the young man replied, rolling his eyes. "Although – and please don't get offended again – I've always thought archers weren't very good in actual battle. I mean… except for shooting arrows at people from a safe distance."

"Oh, there are countless types of warriors, my Master!" Archer mused after a brief chuckle; at least it seemed that it was as quick at forgiving as it was at getting angry. "When my summoning is complete, you won't have anything to worry about!"

The young man nodded, his eyes distant. "Oh, yeah, by the way…" He cleared his throat. "My name is Josh, Josh Sinclair. I'm a voice actor." A moment of silence. "Come to think of it, do you know what a voice actor is?"

"I know what an actor is," Archer dutifully replied. "And I imagine there is not that much of a difference between the two."

"Finally! Someone who gets it!" Josh raising his stare to the ceiling. "Usually, when I tell people about my profession, I get responses on the lines of: 'Yeah, but have you acted on stage? Or on TV?' or: 'Well, but voice acting isn't _really_ acting, right?' And I don't even want to get started with the stuff I get when I make the mistake to say that I work on animated series, too… At last year's Christmas dinner, my aunt told me: 'That's very interesting, Joshua, but you're also trying to find a real job too, am I right?'" Josh shook his head. "Sorry, didn't want to bore you, Archer. I'm sure you don't care in the least about this bullcrap."

"On the contrary," Archer replied, seraphic. "You are my Master, which means that right now you are the most precious and invaluable existence to me."

"Man, that's a cheesy line if I've ever heard one," Josh joked back, even though his cheeks were flushed and he looked at least a bit pleased. "…and also surprisingly sweet." The young man realized that he was still clutching the yellowed page in his hand, and let it fall back on the ground. "So… what are we going to do now?"

"Waiting seems to be the safest option," Archer replied. "My current condition would not allow me to protect you, after all. I cannot even use my Noble Phantasm in this state."

Josh frowned. "I'm sorry, Noble what?"

Archer let out another impalpable sigh – fingertips brushing on velvet – and took its first step outside the magical circle. "I think you should probably sit down…" Archer's resplendent head scanned the room, which was empty and desolate except for the sheets of paper scattered around the dusty wooden pavement and a small black backpack lying against the wall opposite the closed door. "…well, on the floor, I'm afraid. Until my summoning process is completed, I can try and explain you the intricacies of the Holy Grail War, at least those I know about."

Josh did as told, crossing his long skinny legs. "Well, it's not like I have anything better to do," he grumbled, glancing at the only window of the room. Utter and complete darkness looked back at him. "It's still night out there, after all."

* * *

_Welcome to my very first fanfiction written in English! It's not my first language so I hope I didn't make too many mistakes._

_I know it's a weird way to start a fanfiction about a Holy Grail War, but bear with me! I hope you will enjoy the story._

_In the following chapters I will also provide the data for the Servants, when their identities will be revealed. They are all "new" Servants, meaning they are based on mythological/hystorical characters that (still) haven't appeared in the canonical Fate-verse. I hope I will be able to make them justice. _

_Well... Let me know if you liked the prologue! I will try and post the first chapter as soon as I can. In the meantime, goodbye!_


	2. Chapter one - Sleepless

**CHAPTER ONE – SLEEPLESS**

The church of Saint Francis Xavier was a tall, imposing behemoth made out of grey stone, crouched in the darkness as if it was waiting to assault and crush any heathen unfortunate enough to cross its path. The interior, on the other hand, wasn't particularly fear inducing; like its namesake, it was essential and rigorous: twin rows of long and solemn wooden seats, thick unadorned square pillars, a geometric mosaic covering almost the entirety of the pavement and a small altar covered in an immaculate cloth. The only concessions to luxury were a huge stained glass on the wall right behind the altar – depicting Francis Xavier busy in the act of baptizing a small crowd of Indians – and a massive crucifix hanging from the ceiling like a giant golden version of the sword of Damocles, with an appropriately pained-looking sculpture of Jesus nailed in the middle.

The only light source was a plethora of white candles, a multitude of small wax devotees with their fiery heads bent down in a silent collective prayer, as the two other occupants of the church were, knelt on the stone step leading to the altar.

"Would you mind if I asked you a question about your past life, Rider?" the older of the two women broke the silence. The warm light of the candles was almost completely sucked into the blackness of her nun's habit, and even if the face enclosed in the oval of her veil was benevolent and covered in a labyrinth of wrinkles, her eyes were steel grey and piercing like rapiers.

"Of course," the young woman knelt next to her replied, without even raising her stare. She looked in her late twenties or early thirties at most, with a lovely heart-shaped face, liquid black eyes and a mane of straight dark brown hair flowing down her back. Her strong features and light caramel skin tone gave off a distinct Middle Eastern vibe; she was donning simple, but dignified and colorful clothes. "As far as I know, nobody is spying on us at the moment… But remember not to mention my name or hint at my identity when we are outside the house of God."

The nun nodded. "I will keep that in mind, Rider."

"So, what about the question?" the Servant asked again.

"Well… you were a close friend of Our Lord and Savior. How was he? In real life, I mean."

The expression on Rider's face didn't betray any form of surprise. "That's quite the amusing question… Especially since it comes from a member of the Church."

"Of course I know what the Gospels have to say on the matter," the old nun replied in a soft voice. "But I'm also sure they don't say everything about Him."

"True," Rider conceded. "For example, you won't find my opinion about Him after our first encounter written anywhere… I thought He was a real asshole at the time." The young woman glanced at her left and grinned a bit in seeing the nun jolt in surprise and shock. "Of course I changed my mind afterwards, but my first impression of Him was that He was just a snooty, preachy guy and that I didn't want to have anything to do with Him." As Rider spoke, her tone shifted, becoming increasingly sweeter. "He had this weird sense of humor… Always saying everything with the straightest face possible, so it was very difficult to understand whether He was joking or not; and that's the kind of stuff you can't read about in the Gospels." The Servant closed her eyes and let out a small sigh, taking a small pause from her recollection. "And often times his eyes were filled with such a deep-seated melancholy…" Rider shook her head, her hair bouncing gently against her shoulders. "It certainly wasn't easy being Him, and this is the understatement of the millennium. But, despite that, He never told anyone about His inner turmoil, not even when He felt His end was approaching. I'm sure that, despite everything, that burden was something He was destined to carry alone." Rider turned her head towards her Master. "Does that answer your question, at least a bit?"

The old face of the nun was, for some brief seconds, rejuvenated by a warm smile. "It's a start," she conceded. "And speaking of starts, what do you think we should do first?"

"I'd like to clean this place first. It's a mess," Rider declared with a perfectly straight face. "I mean, have you seen all those cobwebs up there? This is simply outrageous."

The older woman stared at the Servant with a politely strained expression. "Clean this place? You mean… all of it?"

"I was joking," Rider replied, deadpan.

"Oh."

"What can I say… I had a good teacher."

The nun smiled again, even though it was at least partly in relief. "That was a nice one." She got back on her feet with careful movements, her knees creaking a little. "I think we should find a place where we can establish our headquarters. Someplace smaller, less conspicuous… The last thing I would want is for pointless blood to be spilled in the house of God."

"I imagine you want to play it safe, at least for the moment," Rider said; she was already walking up and down the church aisles, blowing off a group of candles after another. The place started to become progressively darker, the shadows on the face of the crucified Jesus now giving him an empty-eyed, ominous expression. "Not that I am judging you for that, of course… It's probably the wisest course of action."

"I am afraid I would not be that useful anyway. I am way past my prime," the nun replied, walking towards her Servant; despite her words, her back was straight and her steps firm. "And I certainly do not want to end the life of another human being, that would be a mortal sin regardless of the fact that we are fighting to obtain a holy artifact like the Grail."

Rider shrugged, but her dark eyes glanced at the nun's wizened right hand for a fleeting moment. "I know. You made that very clear."

"You mean you would kill another Master, should you have the chance to do so?" the older woman asked, her voice tense. "You are a faithful servant of God, too."

Rider blew on another group of candles, and their small flames waned and disappeared in the ever-growing darkness. "I am also a Servant. And a Master is God in the eyes of their Servant."

The nun stood right next to Rider, her arms crossed over her chest. Even though she wasn't tall or broad-shouldered, there was something in her figure that instilled awe and reverence in those around her, an innate form of charisma that hadn't been diminished – on the contrary, it was probably magnified – by her old age. "If there is one thing I can assure you, it is this, Rider," she said, and her steely grey eyes listened in glow of the few remaining candles. "I am no God."

* * *

Of all the places Colin Demarco would have envisioned as a background for the supernatural adventure he has apparently been plunged into, a bowling alley wouldn't have even made into the top fifty… And yet there he was, sitting next to the shoe racks, looking around with a childlike look of amusement in his icy blue eyes. The place was desert but perfectly operating, and the boy was sure that if he had tossed one of the polished and colorful bowling balls on display down the nearest lane, a mechanical arm would have dutifully appeared to replace any fallen pin.

"I don't get it." A low, husky voice came from the middle of the bowling lanes, right were Colin's Servant was sitting. "How can this be a good way to train warriors?"

Colin cocked his head, his lips parting in a small smile. "I'm not sure if I follow, Lancer."

The tall imposing woman turned around, staring at her Master with a single, beautifully dangerous green eye, its pupil a thin vertical slit like that of a feline. "From the information the Grail provided me, this is the place where a physical activity known as 'bowling' is practiced… Although I am pretty sure you already know that, since you were born in this era," she said, her pale lips pronouncing each and every word with extreme care.

"I do," Colin replied, trying desperately to keep a serious face. "But please, go on."

Lancer tidied her raven black hair behind an ear that looked decidedly pointed. "This 'bowling' thing is supposed to keep your body in good health and also help you socialize, which is always a positive thing between comrades… But I find it lacking in a lot of different ways. For example, why are the pins not moving? Not only they do not pose any threat whatsoever, they are just standing there, begging to be hit. No enemy would ever act like that."

Colin had to pretend the lower part of his face was itching like crazy in order to dissimulate a small outburst of laughter. "I… um, guess so," he replied when he had finally managed to push the giggling fit back down his throat. "Although I'm pretty sure having the pins attack you would be illegal."

Lancer shrugged. "That would not help the bowling practitioners in facing real enemies, though. How can this be considered a good physical activity if it does not help you in performing basic everyday tasks like slaying your adversaries?" Her bestial eyes shifted towards the dark, gaping holes at the end of each lane. "I am sorry, my Master. This world is decidedly less dangerous than the one I am used to," she said in a sullen, moody tone that made Colin shift uncomfortably on his chair. The boy now felt bad for having laughed, even though the Servant didn't seem to have noticed that she had been mocked.

"You make it sound like it's a bad thing," Colin replied with a soft voice.

The Servant turned around again, pinning the boy against the back of his chair with her otherworldly eyes. "Because it is. At least from my point of view." A sudden, elegant movement – water pouring down from a crystal jug – and she was back on her feet; her walk towards her Master was slow and deliberate like that of a predator waiting for the right moment to strike and rip the throat of her unfortunate victim. "The fact that this world is less dangerous means one thing: that the people inhabiting it are weaker than in the past. In my days, no person of sound mind would have created such an absurd and complicated system to obtain a treasure... They would have fought for it themselves." Lancer stopped her steps right in front of her Master, her fang-like teeth glistening under the neon lights of the bowling alley. "Your need to summon heroes from the past simply means you have no heroes of your own," she concluded her statement, staring at Colin with her arms crossed over the hardened leather armor that covered her chest.

The boy looked back at her in wonder and amazement, his mouth agape. _She could've killed me at least fifty times during the last minute_, his mind realized. _Hell, she would've totally done that, if I weren't her Master… Nothing but an empty shell bleeding its life out in an abandoned bowling alley._ And yet why such an horrifying thought was filling him with exhilaration? Colin was feeling like all his friends had just burst inside the place yelling surprise and holding gifts and a giant cake. "I know I'm weak, Lancer," he told her Servant in an earnest voice with no trace of hesitation. "As far as I know, I may be the weakest Master in this war. Will you still accept me as your partner anyway?"

Lancer frowned. "What do you mean? Have I perhaps implied that I do not consider you a worthy Master?" she asked, and the look of confusion on her pale face seemed genuine. "Are you afraid I may abandon you? Because that is something that would never happen. I am bound by an oath of honor."

Colin smiled back at her, a fragile and tentative expression that made him seem like a little kid more than a nineteen years old. "Well… You did say that we are weak, right?"

The Servant looked at her Master for a long time, her feline eyes lost in thought; and when she finally moved, she did the most unexpected gesture: she raised her left hand, and her fingers ruffled Colin's shaggy blond hair. "I did," she repeated. "But I know the perfect solution for this problem…" An impish grin appeared on her usually serious and focused face. "I will make you stronger, simple as it is."

The boy grinned back at her. "I hope I'll leave up to your expectations, then." A shiver travelled down his spine as his eyes surveyed the empty bowling alley once again. "You know, we should go somewhere else. Usually this kind of places is full of noise and people… Seeing it so empty and silent gives me a bad feeling, as if the world has ended without me noticing."

Lancer nodded. "I agree. A smaller place would be easier to defend. Let's get moving," she said, walking behind her Master.

Colin turned around to face her. "Hey, I may be weak, but I can move on my own quite fine, you know," he replied, but the woman shook her head.

"The training has not started yet," Lancer said, grabbing the handles of her Master's wheelchair and starting to push him out of the bowling alley. "You can still be weak, at least for now."

* * *

"…and this ends my lesson," Archer opened its arms in a dramatic gesture. It was still nothing more than a humanoid outline made out of silvery light, but it now seemed more solid and tangible. Josh, who was still sitting on the bare wooden floor in front of the magical circle, idly wondered if the Servant was warm to the touch. "Any question?" Josh immediately raised his hand. "Any question that does not involve bodily functions?" The young man sighed and lowered his arm after a couple of seconds. "Much better."

_Archer certainly does like the sound of its voice, huh?_, was Josh's sullen thought as he bit his lower lip. "So, seven Masters and seven Servants, and only the last surviving couple gets a wish… It's basically like the Thunderdome, except seven people go inside instead of just two. Or, well, fourteen if you include the Servants," the young man condensed the rambling and long-winded explanation provided by Archer into a couple of sentences.

"U-um… sure," the Servant replied, waving a shimmering hand in the air as if it was trying to swat an invisible fly.

"And I was lucky in summoning you because you are one of the three… knight classes?"

"Precisely. The only Servants we should really be careful with are Saber and Lancer… Once we take care of them, winning the Holy Grail War will be a breeze," Archer explained. The smugness that radiated from its voice was for some moments even more dazzling than the light that composed its body.

Josh shifted uncomfortably on the cold floor. "And that's something we HAVE to do, right? We can't just… you know, stay hidden until the war is over or something like that?"

"The only way to end the Holy Grail War is for only one Servant to remain," Archer explained, with the same tone of voice it would have used to talk with a three year old boy. "Unless you are counting on our enemies to self-destruct themselves for some reason…"

Josh sighed. "Fine. But at least promise me you won't attack the other Masters except in they try to attack us first. I don't like the idea of you killing an innocent human being."

"Are you sure about that?" Archer asked, sounding curious and quite amused. "I would be the one doing the dirty job for you anyway… And dealing with Masters is usually way easier."

Josh's brow furrowed. "You seem a bit too trigger-happy… Or, well, arrow-happy since you're an archer, I guess. But yeah, I'm sure." The young man's unremarkable face got a bit sour. "Don't get me wrong, Archer: the only thing I care about is to survive and go back to my own life pretending nothing had happened… Which is something I could never do, knowing that I have been the accomplice of a murder. I don't care about winning or losing, I just want to make it out alive."

"Very well." It was difficult to interpret Archer's voice now, but strangely enough the Servant didn't sound that disappointed. "If that is the case, may I suggest you trying to contact you one of the other Masters in order to create an alliance?"

"I thought this was an all-out war," Josh replied. "Why would someone agree to be my ally if we're going to fight against each other in the end anyway?"

"Well, of course a team of two Servants will have a considerable tactical advantage against the others," Archer answered back. "And once your adversaries have been taken care of, me and your ally's Servant can have a regular, fair-and-square duel to establish the true winner of the Holy Grail War."

"Sounds… reasonable," Josh was forced to admit. The idea didn't thrill him in the least, but after all, what other choices did he have? "But how can we approach another Master without him or her trying to kill us? Also, whether you like it or not, I really need to use the bathroom, and…"

"Be quiet."

The two simple words hit Josh in the chest like twin darts, almost making him tumble on his back. "W-what…"

"Be quiet, I said." Archer's glowing silhouette had straightened up, its limbs tense, its head pointed towards the window. "Get back on your feet. And when I say run, run."

Josh gulped as a long shiver slithered through his body. As he stood up with rapid and nervous movements, he could feel an invisible hand wrapping its scaly fingers around his throat, curved claws burying in his skin, cold and metallic. "What the…" he murmured once again, before his vocal cords refused to produce another sound.

Then, the tiny and quiet world inside the barren room went straight to Hell: the window exploded inwards, showering shards of glass all over the floor, and a blackened, bloated figure landed on its four limbs right next to Archer. Josh took half a step back as a choked mewl escaped his lips: as much as his brain screamed for him to turn around, open the door and get out of there immediately, his eyes were transfixed on the invader.

It was a grotesque, horrible parody of a body, with festoons of tattered clothes around its chest and groin and scant wisps of frizzy hair on its otherwise bald head. It was as if someone had put a human-sized doll inside a oven to try and see what would happen… Except the doll was now alive, charred skin and jittery limbs and everything. The creature's neck twitched and its milky eyes – the only discernible part of its melted, featureless face – met the terrified stare of Josh.

"Well, Master…" Archer's voice murmured in the young man's ear. "Run."

* * *

_The first proper chapter is finally ready! I hope you all will enjoy it.  
_

_Just to clarify, Rider and Lancer were actual women and not genderbent characters... I'm quite curious about your opinion about what their identities could be, even though - especially in Lancer's case - it's pretty obvious, I'm afraid._

_I wanted to thank Gashadokuro Amanojaku, SacredArcheress and Saint Air for having followed/faved/reviewed the story! I hope you will like this chapter too.  
_

_Well, see you next time!_


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